Doris had never worn so unpleasing an aspect to Hadrian as at this instant, in this decisive moment of her life.  She had followed the Empress straight from the kitchen-hearth just as she was after passing a sleepless night and full of her many anxieties, she had scarcely set her grey hair in order, and her kind bright eyes, usually the best feature of her face, were red with many tears.  The neat brisk little mother looked to-day anything rather than smart and bright; in the Emperor’s eyes she was in no way distinguished from any other old woman, and he regarded all old women as of evil omen, if he met them as he went out of any place he was in.

“Oh, Caesar, Great Caesar!” cried Doris throwing up her hands which still bore many traces of her labors over the hearth.  “My son, my unfortunate Pollux!”

“Out of my way!” said Hadrian sternly.

“He is an artist, a good artist, who already excels many a master, and if the gods—­”

“Out of the way, I told you.  I do not want to hear anything about the insolent fellow,” said Hadrian angrily.

“But Great Caesar, he is my son, and a mother, as you know—­”

“Mastor,” interrupted the monarch, “carry away this old woman and make way for me.”

“Oh! my lord, my lord!” wailed the agonized woman while the slave pulled her up, not without difficulty.  “Oh! my lord, how can you find it in your heart to be so cruel?  And am I no longer old Doris whom you have even joked with, and whose food you have eaten?”

These words recalled to the Emperor’s fancy the moment of his arrival at Lochias; he felt that he was somewhat in the old woman’s debt, and being wont to pay with royal liberality he broke in with: 

“You shall be paid for your excellent dish a sum with which you can purchase a new house, for the future your maintenance too shall be provided for, but in three hours you must have quitted Lochias.”

The Emperor spoke rapidly as though desirous of bringing a disagreeable business to a prompt termination, and he stalked past Doris who was now standing on her feet and leaning as if stunned against the doorpost.  Indeed if Hadrian had not left her there and had he been in the mood to hear her farther, she was not now in a fit state to answer him another word.

The Emperor received the honors due to Zeus and his fiat had ruined the happiness of a contented home as completely as the thunderbolt wielded by the Father of the gods could have done.

But this time Doris had no tears.  The frightful shock that had fallen in her soul was perceptible also to her body; her knees shook, and being quite incapable just then of going home at once, she sunk upon a seat and stared hopelessly before her while she reflected what next, and what more would come upon her.

Meanwhile the Emperor was standing in a room just behind the antechamber that had only been finished a few hours since.  He began to regret his hardness upon the old woman—­for had she not, without knowing who he was, been most friendly to him and to his favorite.  “Where is Antinous?” he asked Mastor.